


Unsuspecting Sunday Afternoon

by allouette



Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Prompt Fic, so much of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allouette/pseuds/allouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake goes back to Oklahoma for a couple of weeks to close the book on one chapter of his life, and now, what? He might be dying? Adam has no fucking clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsuspecting Sunday Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for the shevineproject.

“There’s been an accident.”

The words don’t make sense when Adam hears them, a foreign language that he simply doesn’t understand.

The fact that it’s Miranda on the other end of the line, well. That’s a whole other story of it’s very own. 

It also makes the sense of dread Adam feels hit that much harder.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a too long pause. “I don't—”

“I’m callin’ out of courtesy for Blake because I know he-- Not because I owe you anything. But it’s not good, and you should be here.”

“I’ll be on the first flight out,” Adam says softly, numbly.

*** 

The flight from LA to Oklahoma is grueling. Adam feels cold and sick, can hardly sit still for how worried he is. His leg bounces and his body shakes, anxiety manifesting as shivers, his mind racing at an uncontrollable speed.

There’s an appalling lack of details as to what’s going on, but he supposes he should be grateful that he got the call in the first place. Blake goes back to Oklahoma for a couple of weeks to close the book on one chapter of his life, and now, what? He might be dying? Adam has no fucking clue.

All he does know is there’s something seriously wrong with Blake, there’s a hospital involved, and it’s bad enough to make his boyfriend’s almost ex-wife (Have they signed the papers yet? Did they make it that far?) reach out to him. 

That just leaves Adam in the position to jump to every worst possible conclusion he can come up with, and he’s a creative fucking guy - the possibilities are _endless_.

Especially when said boyfriend owns as many guns as Blake does. Fuck.

*** 

Adam checks every source he can think of on his ride to the hospital, but there’s nothing reported anywhere about Blake’s accident. Everyone on site has done a really excellent job of keeping it out of the media, even though it means Adam is walking in completely blind with no idea as to what to expect.

The only thing he does have is a text with Blake’s room number, and when he gets inside the hospital, finds an elevator and realizes he’s heading up to the ICU, he suddenly can’t remember how to breathe.

The elevator doors open but Adam can’t move, his head buzzing, his vision going grey around the edges. He sways on his feet and catches himself against the wall, sucks in a ragged breath.

“You comin’ in, son?”

There’s an elderly gentleman inside the elevator holding the doors open with the aid of his cane clearly waiting on Adam to enter. It takes Adam another second to regain his bearings, but he finally nods and steps inside on shaky legs, the old man letting his cane drop back down beside him so the doors slide closed.

“Which floor you headin’ up to?”

“Uh, four,” Adam answers. “Thanks,” he adds when the button for the fourth floor gets pressed for him; he didn’t even think about doing it himself.

Later on, Adam won’t remember the elevator ride or the walk down the long sterile hallway. His heart is beating too fast, his stomach churning with nausea, and if he makes it through this ordeal without throwing up, it will be a miracle.

There’s a small part of his brain that’s hoping that will be the only miracle needed today. He thinks he’ll gladly give it up – hell, give up his _life_ , what the fuck does he need it for – if Blake might need one, too.

Miranda is waiting for him outside of Blake’s room. Adam doesn’t even see her at first, but she snags his arm before he can walk right past and when he faces her, he can’t even find it in him to feel ashamed.

“He’s pretty banged up. Concussion, broken leg. They had to do surgery to get it fixed up right again. Couple of broken ribs, lots of cuts and bruises. All that and yet he still got lucky it wasn’t worse. Could’ve broken his damn neck.”

Apparently sugar-coating isn’t in her vocabulary.

“Wh-what the fuck happened?”

She has the nerve to roll her eyes, but when Adam hears the story, he understands why. “Stupid boys bein’ boys. Took the four-wheelers out with some friends, and things went real wrong real quick and he ended up flippin’ the thing. Blake’s never been much of a daredevil but he doesn’t have the best judgment when he’s been drinkin’.”

Adam pointedly doesn’t meet her gaze at that last quip. “Has he been awake at all?”

“Only once that I’ve seen. They’re keepin’ him pretty medicated, but closely monitored because of the head trauma.”

“Oh.” 

He’s back to feeling like he might pass out at any given moment, that fuzzy feeling in his head along with the echo of her words. He swallows hard, past a growing lump of emotion, yet he knows once he gets over this initial shock, he’s going to be sorely pissed off.

“Well, I guess I’ll be headin’ out now,” Miranda says, snapping Adam out of his thoughts. “His mama’s probably going to be back sometime later on, but she knows you’re here.”

“Thank—” Adam starts to say, but she holds up a hand, cutting him off.

“Don’t. This isn’t about you or me. It’s about him. And it’s what he would’ve wanted.”

*** 

Blake’s room is cold. It’s fitting in a way that would make Adam smile if this were any other situation, but he’s frozen in place instead, a bone deep shiver running through him from head to toe. 

Across the room, Blake is lying in the bed still as the dead. He’s hooked up to monitors and has various IV’s, a bandage wrapped around his head. Even from the door, Adam can see that he’s so, so pale. Pale as a ghost. Everything about the picture he makes is so completely _wrong_ , it hurts something deep inside Adam’s chest.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Adam forces himself to move, takes slow steps toward the bed. There’s already a chair pulled up next to it, and as he sinks down to sit, the sting finally hits his eyes. Terrified, heartbroken, angry tears threaten to fall, but Adam scrubs them away before they have the chance. 

He’s careful when he picks up Blake’s hand, and it another thing that’s wrong, to feel Blake’s skin so cold. He’s never known Blake to be cold a day in his life, ever. Holding Blake’s hand cradled between both of his own, he brings it up to his mouth and presses a warm, lingering kiss to the back of it, careful of the IV’s taped there.

Any and all words are lost when he tries to speak; instead he holds onto Blake’s hand for dear life, contents himself with watching Blake breathe, and waits.

***

Adam doesn’t realize he has dozed off until he feels fingers trail through his hair, down along the back of his neck, and then he’s jerking awake, upright, his eyes flying open. He finds Blake looking back at him through bruised, hooded eyes, and his heart skips a beat, doubles up on the next one, unable to grab Blake’s hand fast enough.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, scooting to the edge of his seat because he can’t get close enough.

“Hurts,” Blake rasps, his voice thick, rough with the lack of use.

“What does?”

“Everything.”

It’s then that Adam clenches his jaw for just a second because here it comes, that surge of anger, blooming bright and blazing in his chest. The tears are back as well, stinging in his eyes as he pushes himself up enough to press a gentle kiss to Blake’s mouth.

“I hate you so much, you son of a bitch,” he murmurs harshly. “You could’ve killed yourself.”

“Nah… you can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“Don’t you fucking dare joke with me right now, I swear to god,” Adam says and when he pulls back, he still has tears burning fresh and hot in his eyes, ready to spill over the second he blinks.

“I’m sorry,” Blake says, giving Adam’s hand a squeeze and shifting his body against the bed.

He’s wincing as soon as he does it, his whole face contorting in pain, and Adam can’t page the nurse fast enough. He has barely pressed the button before he’s out in the hallway calling for someone to come in, anything to take that took off of Blake’s face because it hurts him, too.

All of Blake’s vitals look good, and his nurse gives him another dose of pain meds before she leaves. His eyes are quick to go glazed and hooded, and he reaches for Adam’s hand.

“’M sorry,” he says again, a little slurred this time because morphine is a wonderful thing. 

Adam steals another kiss before Blake passes out, lets this one linger for a few moments because he has to. There’s a very small quirk at the corner of Blake’s mouth when Adam eases back, the faintest hint of a smile, and it’s enough to make Adam snort softly. “You’re so high right now,” he says, and that hint of a smile grows just slightly.

“ _Mmm_.”

“Hey, listen to me, okay? Before you let the drugs take you away.” Adam settles back into the chair, takes hold of Blake’s hand again, their fingers hooked together. “I love you. I’m so fucking mad at you right now, but I love you and I need you to stay with me and to not be so fucking _stupid, please_. I’ll promise if you promise.”

All Blake can manage in response is another, “mmm,” thanks to the morphine, but he gives Adam’s hand the strongest squeeze he can; Adam takes that as a sign that Blake heard him thinks that is good enough for now. He can live with that until the real fight comes.

**Author's Note:**

> I spoke with forlackoftrying about having an idea that was the reverse of hers where Blake was the one in an accident and Adam was the one that got the phone call, and she was totally cool with it. Plus I think our fics are different enough to where it doesn't look like I'm ripping off her story.


End file.
